Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/206

 "In this dark hour of deep despair,
 * Of sorrow and distress,

Love yet may conquer when the hands
 * Of war hang weaponless.

"To-morrow when the sun is up,
 * When day has dawn'd again,

When night has lull'd the passions wild
 * Which war could not restrain,

"We'll get us to the white chief's tent;
 * My tears will move his heart;

O say not nay! one trial more,
 * And then we can depart."

The father gave his slow consent
 * Unto her earnest pray'r;

When woman prays, a savage e'en
 * Must yield to words so fair.

When scarce the morrow's sun had risen,
 * The chieftain and his child

Went down unto the white men's tents;
 * He sad, she hopeful, smiled.

They pass'd through crowds of gaping men,
 * Who glared upon their foe

With sullen brow or scornful eye,
 * And pitied not his woe.

They came before the white chiefs tent;
 * He met them at the door,

And gazed in wonder at the maid,
 * Such graceful form she bore.